Pick and Choose
by LadyDivine91
Summary: While having a drink together at Callbacks, Kurt and Rachel spy a handsome man sitting alone at the bar who seems to be interested at someone at their table. They're just having a little trouble figuring out exactly who. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


"He's _definitely_ gay," Kurt declares as the man in question - sitting on a corner barstool at the exact perfect angle for Kurt and Rachel to ogle him equally - glances over. It isn't the first time he's noticed them. They've been staring at him hard for the past forty-five minutes. He can probably feel their eyes burning through his skull. This time, same as the others, he raises his beer to toast in their direction before taking a sip. Both pairs of eyes shift to his lips caressing the mouth of the bottle, then slide their way to the line of his neck lengthening as he leans his head back to suck down the last few mouthfuls of alcohol. When he's done, he licks those sinful lips and tosses them a playful wink. The two friends catch their breath in unison.

"But _how_ do you know?" Rachel asks. "What proof do you have?"

"What proof do _you_ have that he's straight?" Kurt says, sticking his nose in the air. "Besides, I don't _need_ proof. I just know. My intuition is _that_ good."

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Right."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You forget – we went to high school together. Your _intuition's_ track record isn't all that impressive." Rachel raises her glass to the gentlemen at the bar in a similar toasting gesture, tosses him a similar flirty wink, and then takes a sip. But Kurt isn't having it. He raises a hand off the table to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, surreptitiously knocking the bottom of her glass with his knuckle. Sweet vermouth sloshes too quickly down her throat causing her to jerk back and sputter. It doesn't help Kurt's cause too much since the man at the bar had turned his head away in search of the bartender a second before, which that's just as good since Kurt can admit it was a petty move.

Still, it made him feel better.

"No way he's gay," Rachel counters between coughs, glaring at Kurt as she pats her face dry with her napkin. "He's been eye-fucking me for the last twenty minutes."

Kurt laughs out loud. It gets the man's attention. Sultry eyes find Kurt's and hold them. His heart skips a beat.

"Oh no, my dear. That's not _eye-fucking .._." Kurt stops when the man raises an eyebrow. He realizes he must have read the word 'fucking' on his lips and his eyes open wide. The corner of the man's mouth curls in amusement and Kurt blushes a deep cherry red. He prays the man doesn't notice, but that's the thing about _Callbacks_. For a piano bar, they keep the interior relatively well-lit. "That's the look of confusion a person gets when they're sure they've seen someone _quasi_ famous but can't place them."

"_Quasi_? May I remind you that I was the lead actress in a beloved Broadway musical!?"

"Yeah, for about a week."

"_And_ I was on TV! Starring in my own show!"

"Again for about a week. Sorry. He may be looking at you _occasionally_, but the person he's undressing with his eyes is _me_."

The man chuckles, his gaze fixed on Kurt's mouth, drawn to every word tumbling from his lips. His eyes catch the light overhead and they sparkle. That suggestive grin of his is like a fine wine – smooth, rich, subtly intoxicating in a way that sneaks up on you before you know you've had too much and makes you dizzy for hours. Kurt rests his cheek against his palm and sighs. It's been a hot minute since a man has had this lovesick schoolboy effect on him, but he can't help himself. The man at the bar, in his camel-colored slacks, button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and soft frame of curls surrounding his expressive face is exactly his type. He ticks all the boxes on Kurt's dream guy checklist – appearance wise, anyway. If he has half as much personality as his half-cocked smile does, Kurt is in real danger of falling hard and fast for a stranger. If he could only convince Rachel to back off for five freakin' minutes, maybe make a run to the bathroom so Kurt can approach the man and say _hi_. He hatches a plan. He'll wait for her to take another sip of her drink. If he can get her to spill it down the front of her top this time, maybe he can …

"There's only one way to solve this conundrum that I can see," Rachel says, pushing back from the table and rising to her feet.

"And what's that?" Kurt follows suit, because if Rachel Berry is about to do a single thing to sabotage his chances with this man, he wants to be right there next to her to hogtie and gag her if need be.

"We'll both offer to buy him a drink, and see whose offer he accepts."

"That's … actually a good idea," Kurt says, weeding his way around the tables to his left in an effort to get to the man first.

"Isn't it?" Rachel says smugly. "Just remember, no matter what, we remain civil, and we stay friends."

"Of course. But I need you to remember something, too."

"What's that?"

"After he accepts _my_ offer and you head home, feed the cat? She must be starving."

Rachel snorts in offense, but before she can retort, they arrive. They surround the man like juvenile lions – over-zealous, fidgety, and outmatched.

"Good evening," the man says in a voice like silk and chocolate – two of Kurt's favorite things. "I'm glad you finally decided to join me."

"Look," Rachel starts, getting the jump before Kurt can open his mouth, "this might sound odd, but …" For some reason, she stalls. Kurt side-eyes her, wondering if she's about to deviate from the plan and stab him in the back instead.

"But?"

"But," Kurt leaps in, debating for a second whether or not he should steal the chance to plunge his own proverbial dagger between Rachel's thin shoulder blades, "we've both been watching you all night, and as creepy as that sounds …"

"… one of us would like to buy you a drink."

The man's eyes – a delectable honey-gold from close up - dance from one face to the other. "Is that right?"

"Yes. It's just … uh …"

"… we need you to pick which one."

And with that revelation, the man's smile goes from bright to blinding. "I see. Well, that's a new one." He looks them both over from head to toe. Rachel looks at Kurt as if she might be second guessing her idea, and for the same reason that crosses his mind. What if he picks _both_ of them? Kurt loves Rachel. Despite all of his bitching and moaning about her, he does. Like a sister. He's not going to share a guy with her.

But he's also not in the habit of giving up without a fight.

He knows all of Rachel's weaknesses. Plus, she's got a bum knee – a consequence of years of ballet. One well-placed kick and she'll fold like a paper plate.

The man's eyes bounce back over to Rachel's face and stay there. "Aren't you … Rachel Berry?"

She pulls herself up straight, confident that she's come out victorious. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"I'm Blaine." He extends a hand. She offers hers for him to shake, but he lifts it to his lips and kisses it instead. Kurt's red cheeks drain to a sickly pea green with envy. "Enchante."

"I'm Kurt," Kurt says with a wave, but Blaine isn't looking Kurt's way anymore.

"I saw you in _Funny Girl_ before you left the show. You captured the essence of Fanny Brice perfectly. You're very talented."

"Thank you."

"Your performance radiated her charm, her ingénue, her innate glamour ..."

"Oh _do_ go on," she says, twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger while simultaneously shooting Kurt a smirk. His shoulders sag. Oh well. Tonight is not his night, which stings considering he can't seem to catch a break at all in the dating department lately. He thought he had a chance with a new photog at _Vogue_, but seven coffee dates in he found out from Isabelle that the guy in question had a girlfriend, and that he was buttering Kurt up in hopes of scoring the choice assignments.

Before that was Chase, but he transferred to the London office a few days after Kurt got hired on full time; and then Michael, who was sweet enough during work hours, but that was only because he was trying to sleep his way through every man in the office.

And Adam. Kurt met him at NYADA. They were in all the same classes, had everything in common. But his school visa ran out before the beginning of last summer.

Kurt guesses it's true what they say – all the good guys are taken or straight.

Or just plain live in another country.

Ready to declare defeat, he backs away towards their abandoned table. He'll settle their bill, pay for his two Diet Cokes and Rachel's army of sweet vermouths, and then head home. He can hear their cat Sicily scolding him when he walks through the door for staying out so late. He'll change into his pajamas, then they'll curl up together on the couch – him eating strawberry cheesecake ice cream from the container while she sits on his shoulder and yawns hot fish breath against his cheek.

But a warm hand finds his and weaves their fingers together. When Kurt looks back at Blaine, he motions to the seat beside him with a tilt of his head.

"Would it be tacky to ask for an autograph," Blaine asks, pulling Kurt over to the empty barstool, "while your handsome friend here buys me that drink?"

"I … what? Uh …" Rachel's eyes pop. "N-no," she says, the smile plastered to her face freezing awkwardly into place. "N-not at all. Anything for a fan."

"Excellent. Because I'd _really_ appreciate it."

Kurt slides onto the barstool, expecting Blaine to let go of his hand once he's taken his seat. But he doesn't. He lifts Kurt's hand to his mouth as he had with Rachel's and kisses it, but this time, he lingers, breathing in the scent of Kurt's skin as those kisses travel from his knuckles to his wrist. It mesmerizes Kurt, nearly leaves him speechless.

Nearly.

"Hey, Rach," Kurt says as Rachel grabs a pen off the bar and starts searching for a slip of paper. "You know, I'm a fan, too. I've been a fan since high school."

Rachel finds an old receipt lying not too far away. She signs her name to the blank back of it, along with a small message. And even though she makes it a point not to look at her triumphant friend while she does, her smile melts an inch. "Thanks, Kurt."

"That said, in the spirit of _doing anything for a fan_, could you scoop the litter box, too? Because that would be faboo."


End file.
